The Islanders (36 page)

DEAD TOWER

T
HE
G
LASS

I had known Alvasund Raudeberg all through our school days. She came back into my life at a time when I had all but forgotten her. Time seems to accelerate after you leave school, and I had gone away, an exhibitioner at Kellno University on the subtropical island of Ia. The sheer hard grind and intellectual stimulation of my course speeded up the change even more. I was glad to leave my home island behind, and move into what I considered to be the modern world. Alvasund, and everyone I had known as a child, drifted into my past.

Then my parents unexpectedly died and I had to return to Goorn, the Hettan island where I was born. I did so reluctantly. It was one of the years when the Goornak wind was gusting down, a time of omens for most of the people in the Hetta group. The icy wind brought a regression to many of the primitive fears and superstitions which lent our part of the Archipelago a reputation for backwardness. The Goornak is a freezing, blustering stream of air from the north-east, the vile breath of a witch, or so some of the Hetta people say. When the Goornak blows the curse wind is thought to have returned and many aspects of the modern world retreat from Hetta for the duration.

I had then been away for four years, absorbed in a course in glass sciences. Ia was a long way to the south of the Hetta Islands, covered in lush vegetation and bathed by warm seas, modern in all things, a place where young minds are trained, ideas are formed and technology is developed. At Kellno Uni I learned to respect science and engineering, to be sceptical of superstition, to reject the conventional but to value the past, to think for myself. I read widely and eagerly, met other people of my own age, fell in love, fell out of love, debated, questioned, argued, got drunk, sobered up, learned, lazed around. I was a student, not typical of everyone else but not so different from them either. I grew up while I was on Ia, leaving behind, or so I assumed, the unattractive mental and psychological baggage I had carried with me when I first left Goorn. I had been born on Goorn, so what could I know of the rest of the world?

I made the best use of my time at the university, where I became involved in an outreach placement. It was a commercial laboratory, working on a research project into a new form of BPSG, borophosphosilicate glass, developed for use in superconductors. After I graduated, the time I had spent gaining experience in the lab in Ia Town benefited me in two ways. It meant I received a First with Honours, and following from that I was offered a full-time job at the same laboratory.

I barely thought of home, communications across certain sections of the Archipelago being slow, unreliable and expensive. Hetta is one such area. It’s a wild and ruggedly attractive place, thirteen medium-sized islands in a large bight, tucked up against the coastal range along the southern shore of Faiandland. In winter three or four of the smaller islands are temporarily joined to the mainland when the sea freezes, but unreliably: the ice is too thick for small boats to break through, and too unreliable for traffic to cross over it. There are traditional trading contacts across the straits, but since the war began most dealings with the Faiand mainland have had to be undercover. Strict border controls exist.

On Goorn itself, the second largest of the Hetta group but not one of those close to the mainland, the northern coastline is mountainous, broken by deep fjords. This is the region of Goorn called the Tallek. Among the Tallek’s headlands, steep cliffs and long bays of freezing cold water there are several small ports tucked away, sheltered from the prevailing winds. The mountains that loom over the sea are bare in summer, iced-over in winter. Deep-sea fishing is the main industry in the Tallek. I went to the Tallek only once, when I was still a child – my father had a business meeting there and he took the rest of the family along. Afterwards, ever afterwards, my memories of that high, chilly landscape informed my feelings about my home island, even those of the dull plains of grazing animals around Goorn Town, where I lived.

I had been working at the lab on Ia for less than three months when I learned that my mother had died. I had known she was ill, but had not been told how serious it was. Then soon afterwards my father suffered a fatal heart attack. Numbed by this double tragedy I made contact with my elder brother Brion, who now lived on the mainland, but he was unable to obtain an exit visa. Therefore, alone, I took the slow sequence of ferries north, one island to the next, frequently delayed, arriving in Goorn Town eight days later.

Once I was home I had much to do, sorting out my parents’ financial affairs, clearing the house, and so on. While I was away from Ia my job was still in theory safe, but one day my boss made contact – a sponsorship deal had fallen throufgh, and all the people in my team had been placed on half-salary. There was no pressure on me to return.

The atmosphere of Goorn was all too chillingly familiar. The days were short, the skies permanently fuliginous, the temperature icy. Sooty clouds scudded across from the north-east. I had already lived in the subtropics long enough to wish I could be there all the time. Goorn and its constant wind depressed me. I glimpsed other people about the streets, not many, but the few who ventured out huddled against the wind, huddled against their own thoughts and, I supposed, their pagan fears. Cars went by slowly, the sombre light reflecting ominously from their windows. I felt crowded in by the ignorant beliefs I discerned, but also lonely because of them.

In this state of suspense, trying to complete my parents’ affairs was all but impossible. The bank staff, the lawyers, the Seigniory Estates Commission either did not respond to my enquiries or they made excuses or they sent the wrong paperwork. Almost nothing was being done.

After a few more days I realized I was wasting my time until the Goornak ceased. I decided to travel back to Ia, where at least I could see my friends and find out the facts about my job. I would have to make the long return journey to Goorn when summer came. I began packing.

Seeing Alvasund Raudeberg again changed everything. She came to the house on the morning of the day before I was due to catch the ferry. I was not only surprised to see her, I was pleased and intrigued that she had sought me out. I had always rather fancied her when we were at school together. She entered the house in a flurry of fine blown snow.

‘I realized you must be back, Torm,’ she said. ‘I was sorry to hear the news about your parents.’

In the house I made her a hot chocolate and we sat side by side at the scrubbed-deal table in the kitchen, sipping at our drinks, our shoulders touching companionably for warmth. The eaves of the house groaned and sometimes shrieked as the hostile wind blustered through the town. The outer door was creaking and the house felt cold.

‘Tell me what you’ve been doing since school,’ I said to her. ‘Did you go away to college?’

The morning passed. We each had our stories to tell, catching up, but in a sense they were similar. Like so many others we had left Goorn to escape – we had both been forced to return. Neither of us had clear ideas about what we should do next.

Alvasund told me she had been living on Muriseay until recently, but she had lost her job and could not find another. She had returned to Goorn because her sister had just given birth to twins, and most of the family were there to celebrate. She seemed restless and anxious to leave. I mentioned I was about to head back to Ia, suddenly realizing how much I would like Alvasund to travel with me. I could not stop thinking about her, how much we had both grown up, that I had always liked her, the possibilities that were gathering. But after I had mentioned Ia a few more times, trying to make it sound interesting and attractive, I realized that it was not an option for her.

‘I’m heading up to the Tallek region in a day or two,’ she said. ‘Do you know it?’

‘I was there with my parents, when I was a kid. Just a couple of days.’

‘Do you remember much about it?’

‘A lot of mountains,’ I said, wishing I could elaborate more. ‘A constant smell of fish and smoke. I was cold all the time. Just like this, but I was there in the summer so I guess the Tallek is cold all year. Why do you want to go there?’

‘Various reasons.’

‘Such as?’

‘I’ve never seen the fjords.’

‘It must be more than that. It’s so hard to get there.’

‘It’s all a bit vague. There’s the possibility of a job, but I need to know more about it. And the other day I found out there’s a Yo tunnel in the Tallek somewhere.’

‘I didn’t know she came to Goorn,’ I said.

‘She wasn’t here long. They threw her off the island when they caught up with her, but apparently she was in the Tallek long enough to drill most of the way through one of the slopes. She never finished, which is why it’s interesting. Anyone can go in and explore.’

Alvasund suddenly changed the subject and talked about her course. She had studied stagecraft, gaining skills in computer-generated three dimensional sets, perspective building and subjective animatronic modelling. She said it was called active intelligence, because stages dressed in this way were capable of responding, not just to the actors’ lines but to the reactions of the audience. It was still a new technology, and many theatre managers were conservative about stage techniques.

Once she had gained her degree she discovered jobs were hard to find. She worked for a while for a TV company. They had sent her to a regional studio on Muriseay, but that job expired when the studio closed. She was unable to find work in any of the theatres on Muriseay.

Now she was planning to visit the north, before she went back to Muriseay.

‘Would you like company on the trip?’ I said suddenly, trying to make it sound spontaneous.

‘I thought you were returning to Ia.’

‘No urgency. I just don’t want to be in this house any longer.’

‘Can you drive a car?’ Alvasund said.

‘Yes.’

‘That would solve a problem for me. If we rented a car together, would you be willing to drive?’

‘Where would we stay, what would we do?’

She looked gravely at me – a sudden reminder of her intriguing seriousness in class at school. ‘We’ll work something out, Torm.’

Then she laughed, so I did too. There was now a prospect of intimacy, alone with her for some days. She told me there was a house she could stay in, something to do with the job offer. She wasn’t clear about that. ‘No one else there now,’ she added, and laughed again.

She left soon after that, but she came back the next day and we discussed practicalities. I cancelled my ferry ticket, obtained a refund. She had located a car rental firm that was not expensive. We looked at maps of the fjords, picked out the places we might pass through.

The town we were going to was called Ørsknes, close to where Yo had been drilling. The absence of markings on the map of the surrounding terrain gave a chill impression of bleakness, windswept peaks. We packed warm clothes, bought food and drinks, and agreed to set out the following morning. I offered to walk with her back to her sister’s house, but she said no.

North of Goorn Town there is almost nothing of scenic interest, and the road is straight. The car was buffeted by gusts of wind. We drove all day, stopping for a rest and a brief lunch, neither of us sure how long the whole journey might take. We did not want to be driving through the mountains after dark. We could see them ahead of us, a dark range capped by many snowy peaks. Although the car was a recent model the heater did not work well and the further north we drove the colder we felt. Alvasund wrapped her legs under a travel blanket, and I halted the car long enough to pull on my wind-cheater.

It was late afternoon when we climbed towards the first pass, finding the road ice-covered and treacherous in places. A heavy snowstorm started, whiting out visibility. It did not last long, but it was concerning. Old snow was already piled on both sides, and the fresh fall was settling on the paved surface. When about half an hour later we saw a small hotel set back from the road, we immediately turned in to stay the night.

We drove down from the high pass into Ørsknes. It was close to midday. The sun was low in the sky but brilliant, the sea was deep blue but troubled with many flecks of white, the mountains hung above us, snow-covered, perilously steep, rocky. There were signs of rockfall near the bases of some of the mountains, close to where the road ran alongside the fjord. Using a small, hand-drawn map, Alvasund directed me to the house we would be staying in. We climbed out of the car, assailed by the freezing wind. Small white clouds raced overhead. The streets looked deserted. The curse wind was felt here too.

The house was built so that it backed on to the first elevation of a slope, which rose steeply from a tiny yard at the rear. Alvasund walked quickly to the main door of the house, produced a key and we were in. We carted our bags into the house, our breath blowing white around us, even in the interior.

It was an A-frame building, furnished minimally. The large street-level floor was dominated by a wood-burning stove, with neat stacks of logs placed alongside the stone wall. A long couch and a hide rug were in front of the stove. There was a kitchen and bathroom. Everything was clean, tidy, functional.

The upper floor was a mezzanine, attained by narrow wooden steps. Beneath the sharply-angled roof a large, thick mattress lay on the floor, with quilts and bolsters folded neatly on the top.